


and then what?

by birlcholtz (justwhatialwayswanted)



Series: Jack is Out at Samwell AU [1]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M, a different version of the end of y2, jack is out at samwell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:48:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22413478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justwhatialwayswanted/pseuds/birlcholtz
Summary: What if, when Bitty gets to Samwell, Jack is out already?It's harder to hate someone you have something in common with, especially when they trust you with that knowledge before you would have trusted them with a shift on the ice.(first chapter is the original tumblr post, second two are fic)
Relationships: Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann
Series: Jack is Out at Samwell AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1674502
Comments: 34
Kudos: 260





	1. if

**Author's Note:**

> The first part of this is my original HCs, and the second part is fic inspired by someone who replied 'and then?' to the post
> 
> original post link: https://birlcholtz.tumblr.com/post/179997789030/what-if-bitty-had-gotten-to-samwell-and-jack-had

what if bitty had gotten to samwell and jack had been out already?

there’s some things i know would change– bitty would probably come out significantly sooner, obviously he wouldn’t have the ‘crush on a straight boy’ angst, and keeping their relationship a secret in y3 would probably be less about jack’s career and more about bitty’s parents.

but what about in the meantime? what if bitty comes out to jack and jack then subtly, in his very jack-like way (’but why would you be picking bitty’s screw date, you’re not his roommates, that’s how it works’) steers ransom and holster away from their current path, maybe once bitty leaves to check on his library pie

what if, once bitty has come out to jack, jack is suddenly very aware of how hard it is to hate someone who shares something that big with you, especially when they trusted you with that before you would have trusted them with a shift on the ice during a game

what if checking practice starts sooner, not in the mornings but in the year, and jack makes an effort to be nicer. what if instead of commanding bitty to eat more protein, it becomes a running joke, where bitty will pull a pie out of the oven, turn around, and see jack with a pan of scrambled eggs (the first food he learned to make when he was old enough to turn the stove on, and admittedly he hasn’t made much progress in the cooking area but he can always make scrambled eggs), and as bitty cuts slices of pie jack divides up the scrambled eggs and if bitty’s portion is somewhat larger, he pretends not to notice. at the dining hall, jack fills up a small plate with protein for bitty, and if anyone asks, he says dryly, ‘this was easier’

what if they’re tentative friends by winter break of bitty’s frog year? now, they’re both either oblivious or procrastinating when it comes to anything resembling feelings so sophomore year, when jack and bitty both realize that jack is leaving for real in may, is when things would happen. maybe when they’re working on that pie and bitty says ‘my kitchen’, jack’s response is softer, fonder, than it would have been, and bitty leaves that kitchen feeling not upset, but fluttery, with realization.

the next day, someones (lardo and chowder) are debating whether chirping and flirting are the same thing. lardo thinks yes, chowder thinks no but there’s a fine line. they use examples in their debate– chowder says ‘well, jack chirps bitty all the time but they’re not together and they’re both out??’ and jack, walking by and overhearing, thinks, _oh._

(as he hurries up to bitty’s room, he misses lardo’s response of ‘dude, you don’t want to get into that territory, there have been heated debates about whether jack and bitty’s friendship is verging into ransom-and-holster levels of confusion’)


	2. then

Bitty isn't in his room.

Normally, this wouldn't be a problem, because Jack knows the top five places on campus that Bitty is in 95% of the time (when he's not at practice or in class), but he feels jittery and expectant in that way where it feels like the feeling will vanish if he doesn't do something about it in the next ten minutes. The type of anticipation that says  _ now, right now. _

Jack isn't known for his snap decisions, because he never makes them. He  _ does _ make decisions fast, sometimes, when he's been building up information and knowledge and thoughts and just needs that one final piece to make everything fit. Whether the opposing center is going to go left or right. Correspondence between two American generals in the 1930s. 

Overhearing Chowder saying to Lardo, "Well,  _ Jack _ chirps  _ Bitty _ all the time but they're not together and they're both out," and thinking,  _ But—  _

_ But _ so many things.  _ But _ Jack started chirping Bitty, and vice versa, before they even really liked each other that much.  _ But _ it's just the way their friendship works...  _ but _ primarily, Jack doesn't  _ want _ to be not-together with Bitty.

That's the thought on the tip of his tongue, the one he had to restrain himself from blurting out as he hurried past the living room up the stairs, because Bitty wasn't in the kitchen so his room was the next logical place for him to be.

Although 'I don't want to be not-together with you' is a pretty terrible way to open  _ that _ conversation.

And it's probably a good thing that Bitty isn't in his room because if he was, Jack might just stand in the doorway and stare at him, too overwhelmed by realization to do anything else. And then Bitty would ask if something was up and after a long, concerning silence, Jack would say no, and then everything would go back to the way it was.

Not that he, Jack, can ever truly go back to the way it was again.

But Bitty's room is empty. No phone on the desk, backpack slung across the bed (although that just means he's not in class, he could still be anywhere), closet door open. He might have just left the Haus. Jack might have missed him— he only got back from class a couple of minutes ago, only overheard Chowder and Lardo when he stopped to put his books in the kitchen before going upstairs, it's possible.

He stands in the doorway anyway and looks, like if he looks long enough the room will give up its secrets, tell Jack what to do next. He'd barreled up the stairs with no more concrete plan than 'find Bitty'.

Huh.

But if Bitty isn't in his room, then Jack is just going to have to do what he does best. Think through things. He can make a better plan, he can check the group chat to see if Bitty mentioned going somewhere, he can figure out exactly what he wants to say when he  _ does _ find him and— 

"Jack? You alright there?" he hears from the top of the stairs.

Uh. Fuck.

_ Bitty. _

There goes all his planning about how he's going to make a plan. It flies out the window with all the gracelessness of a paper airplane.

"Bitty," he says, and it comes out softer than it usually does, or at least that's how it feels in the moment. "I just... I came over to see if you were around and then I... spaced out, I guess?" He has to find something to chirp him about, something to make Bitty think things are normal, except things are  _ not _ normal and never will be again because Jack Zimmermann has realized... something. He doesn't know what to call it yet. Does he call it a crush? No. That's not enough, that doesn't communicate what Bitty means to him, but then what does he call it?

There's only one word that encapsulates what Jack is feeling at the moment and he can't just  _ blurt that out, _ that is an excellent way to scare Bitty or freak him out or come on too strong and if there's anything that Jack can't handle right now it's Bitty feeling uncomfortable.

Fuck. Too much time has passed. 

He turns and looks.

Bitty is watching him with all the patience in the world, plus some confusion, and Jack notices the way that Bitty's leaning against the wall with the same intensity that he would notice a goalie's eye movements. He's still bundled up, so he must have just come inside, even though it's spring and the only other person who routinely wears a jacket outside is Chowder (and he doesn't count because it's a Sharks hoodie). 

But he looks... good. 

Actually, wait.  _ Good _ is what Jack might have said a year ago, five years ago, even ten years ago. Not twenty years ago, not when he was young enough to be more or less unfiltered. 

Suddenly, Jack is hit with a burst of longing for that unfilteredness. He doesn't want to just stick with  _ good. _ He's made caution, checking himself constantly, so much a part of him that when he's faced with Bitty  _ right there, _ with hair that has been wind-tossed and finger-combed back into a semblance of its original shape (and  _ oh _ , Jack has never realized exactly how much he wants to touch the honeyed gold waves of Bitty's hair), a blue jacket that's almost the Falconers' colors and provides the contrast to the pink still in his cheeks and the tip of his nose, the way his lips curve up in the beginnings of a smile that Jack knows from experience goes ear-to-ear and is as welcoming as an empty rink in the early hours of the morning, the way his eyelashes almost brush his eyebrows because Bitty is always wide-eyed, like a doe, but the fragility and caution that Jack used to see in his eyes has been replaced by openness and warmth, and the way Bitty still hasn't said anything, the way he understands when Jack needs some time to figure out what he's going to say before he says it, but also how Jack feels he can just  _ do _ things when he wants to do them, be a little impulsive, and know that Bitty will accept him...

Bitty is more than good. So much more.

"Hi," Jack says, awkwardly, because it's all he can think of to say while his mind is racing, going a mile a minute about things he can't express to Bitty right now because he doesn't know how to say them. Because he's figuring out how he wants to say them, because they deserve to be said well.

And there's that smile, beaming, white teeth and gold hair and pinks and blues and Jack thinks,  _ heavenly. _

"Hi," Bitty says. "I'm gonna put my coat down." And he shrugs out of the blue coat and drapes it over an arm that is now the color of a winter sky, promising snow soon, a pale knitted sweater that's not big or thick enough to disguise the muscles in his arms as anything other than what they are.

"Great," Jack says, because he is devoting approximately five percent of his available brainpower to this conversation and the other ninety-five percent to just  _ Bitty, _ allowing himself to be distracted for once, or maybe the opposite of being distracted, because if anything, Jack is focused. He drinks in every detail about Bitty like it is the first time he's seen him.

Then he realizes that Bitty hasn't moved because Jack is standing in his doorway and Bitty can't get into his room to put his coat down.

"Uh. Sorry."

And he moves, but he only moves just enough that Bitty still brushes past him, and Jack catches the smell of Bitty's conditioner that suffuses the bathroom in the mornings, and he feels the point of contact where Bitty's sweater-clad shoulder barely touched his arm through his shirtsleeve more intensely than any punch or kiss he's ever experienced, and again, he thinks,  _ oh. _

Realizations are raining down on Jack like the first few minutes of a rainstorm, small and light enough at first that he doesn't see them for what they are, barely  _ notices _ them, and then, all of a sudden, a downpour. He welcomes it.

Bitty is...

He still doesn't have the words. He knows they're out there. But Bitty means so much to him, and yet, that still feels insufficient.

And then Bitty is back and says, "So,  _ monsieur  _ Zimmermann _ , _ were you looking for me for a reason, or did you just realize you couldn't smell any baking going on?"

It's a gentle chirp, gentle enough that Jack responds in kind with, "Isn't that a reason?"

"Guess so." Bitty shrugs and pushes his fingers through his hair, and the waves of his hair meet Jack's rainstorm as two facets of the same feeling. "But that's not an answer."

"Next year," Jack starts, not really sure where he's going to end until the next words tumble out of his mouth in a rush, "uh, once I'm with the Falcs, you know that means I won't be... I'm not going far. Providence is... close. To here," he finishes lamely, and shoves his hands in his pockets because that's the only way to stop himself from crossing them and he doesn't want to seem closed off or anything, he wants to be open with Bitty, and folding his arms is not going to help with that. So, pockets. 

Bitty blinks, but he's kind enough not to take the obvious fodder for chirping that is Jack's speaking right now, and he says, "It is!" which Jack knows is a quiet, subtle way of encouraging him, telling him  _ go on, I know you might need a couple of tries to say whatever it is you want to say. _

And really, how did Jack not see this before, not understand his own feelings? Because everything about Bitty is the same, it's just that now Jack is  _ really _ looking and listening and observing. 

"Which is good," he rallies eventually. "Because... I don't want to leave.  _ You, _ I mean. I don't want to leave you. Even though I am. Leaving." Brilliant.  _ Fuck. _ But Bitty just nods, slowly, carefully, and that means Jack has another shot at clarifying what, exactly, he is trying to say here, but what  _ is _ he trying to say?

That he loves the team but Bitty is different? That he likes the person he is around Bitty so much better than he likes the person he was before they met? That above all else, Jack desperately wants to reach out, to hold Bitty, to pull him in close and try to give him that same sense of security and safety that, over time, Bitty has given Jack?

Yearning. That's what Jack feels.

"I'm not explaining this well," he says out loud, because he wants to make sure Bitty knows that there is more, that there is  _ so much _ more he wants to say.

"That's fine with me, take all the time you need to figure it out," Bitty says, and Jack... loves him.

He does.

He's loved him for... a long time. Maybe he could pinpoint an exact moment, but maybe it's been a slow process, little things that add up to one bright, all-encompassing whole. Drops in the ocean.

"You mean so much to me," Jack says, because he  _ needs _ to say it. "I love being around you, I love who I am when I'm around you, and..." He fumbles again and has to look away, focuses on the doorframe because the doorframe is not a person and can't look back at him.

Is it really fair to say all this to Bitty? What if some long, drawn-out confession from Jack, right before he graduates, just makes him feel... obligated?

That would be worse than anything.

He blows out the air from his lungs like that will dispel his frustration, because now he doesn't know what to do. Can he actually even say anything?

Bitty says, "I love who I am around you too," and Jack looks back at him so fast that for a second he thinks he could have given himself whiplash, but he forgets about that in favor of the look on Bitty's face.

It's tender. That's the only word for it.

But is it tender out of... well, out of love? Or pity? Or oblivious platonic affection?

Jack tries to shut down his brain and just listen, try to communicate to Bitty that he is here and patient and willing to hear whatever Bitty has to say no matter how long it takes him to say it. And he also smiles, just a little bit, because all of a sudden he's  _ nervous _ and that's tamping down the relief he feels that, on some level, Bitty appreciates being around Jack in more than a superficial way.

"I've been pretty... well, I don't like the idea of you leaving either," Bitty admits. "I mean, of course because you're such a good captain and a great player, and the Haus won't be the same without you, although I don't have anything against Chowder! It's just. He's not you." 

Maybe it's because Jack is paying rapt attention, maybe it's because he's searching for any sign, any way to figure out what Bitty is thinking or feeling underneath his friendliness and patience and kindness, but he doesn't think he imagines Bitty swallowing the tiniest bit before saying softly, "I'm gonna miss you."

The weight that Bitty gives those words, like they're a secret, like they're a  _ confession, _ makes Jack pause. Because Bitty is one of his best friends on the team, everyone knows that, Bitty knows that, they've spent so much time together, especially this year. Jack would expect anyone as extroverted as Bitty to miss their teammates once they graduated, especially the ones they lived with.

But Bitty says those words, that he'll miss Jack, with a kind of almost hushed reverence that Jack has never heard before. 

Most of the people that Jack knows respond to other people leaving in a few ways. They react dramatically, like Shitty, who's flung himself onto Jack multiple times this week and pleaded at the top of his voice for them to talk at least once every two days, the kind of people who take the feeling of preparing to miss someone and amplify it tenfold. Ransom and Holster are like that. So is his mother. Or they react calmly, like his father, or Lardo, and they accept that feeling and don't try to hide it, but don't play it up either. Or they don't care. Like, Jack assumes, the lax team.

Bitty's voice is quiet, but not accepting. He is presenting a problem, not mourning, not ready to move on either.

Jack is good at solving problems.

"I'll miss you too," he says, slowly, deliberately, and he wonders if Bitty is reading the same amount into his words that he does into Bitty's. "And, uh. I've been thinking about it. And I realized some things."

Bitty nods, which Jack thinks can't be a bad sign, so he plunges on, hands still deep in his pockets where nobody can see how he's tapping his fingers on his leg, jittery with the sense of something big and important happening. If it goes badly, Shitty will probably be getting back from his last class of the day within the next hour, and in the meantime Jack can retreat to his room, but anyway, it's probably better to not dwell on what he'll do if it goes badly, so he just says, "I realized... you're not just a friend. To me. Shitty is my best friend, and you're different, and I finally know why." He finds his gaze snapping to the doorframe again, because there are certain times where eye contact only makes him  _ more _ uncomfortable. Even with someone he loves. But he still can't... can't say  _ exactly _ how he feels. Jack is intense, as a rule. He always takes care to tone everything down, to make sure he comes across as normal, or as normal as anyone will ever reasonably perceive him. 

So he tones it down. Bitty knows him better than most, knows that he feels deeply, he reacts strongly to almost everything. But scaring him off at this point would be... well. It can't happen.

"I like you," he says, and then, because that's still not enough, he adds, "A lot." But that's too much, or it could be too much, and immediately he tacks on, "And I'll understand if you don't feel the same way, obviously, but. I just wanted you to know." The doorframe has faint, cracked lines running through the paint. How long has the hockey team owned the Haus again? Jack can't remember.

"Me, or the doorframe?" Bitty says, with an air of lightness that doesn't seem quite real, and Jack feels his hand on his arm, rooting Jack in  _ here _ and  _ now _ and not running through his memory to distract himself by wondering when the Samwell hockey team was founded. "Jack, I..."

And he trails off.

_ Fuck. _

Jack keeps his gaze determinedly on the doorframe, on one crack that's just a little bit above his eye level, and tries not to let his shoulders sag, or his lungs give up their air, in the way that they desperately want to. "You don't need to say you're flattered, or anything." He takes a slow breath in through his nose, prepares to turn around and go to his room and close the door behind him. He repeats, "I just wanted you to know."

But Bitty doesn't lift his hand, and almost before Jack's done talking he bursts out, "Oh,  _ no, _ Lord, that wasn't what I meant! I just..." Jack hears a minute sigh before he continues, small enough that he knows, logically, that there's no way he could feel any impact of air, but it still washes over him somehow. "I spent a long time trying to convince myself that, well, that you would never feel that way about me." 

Again, Jack is shocked back to looking at Bitty, and finds him closer than he was, a breath away, one hand gripping Jack's arm and the other pressed against his own mouth like he's holding in a secret, or a rush of emotion. And Bitty is looking at him, and Jack sees a whole world in his eyes.

"You took me by surprise," Bitty says after he takes his hand away from his mouth. "I like you  _ so _ much, Jack Zimmermann."

"Sorry it took me so long," is all Jack can think to say, and then... he relaxes. Not in the shoulders-sagging, airless way he thought he would, but simply letting the tension in his body melt away.

There.  _ That's _ what being around Bitty normally feels like.

Almost without thinking about it, he takes his hands out of his pockets and reaches out, just like he had wanted to do this whole time— his right hand just barely touches Bitty's cheek and Jack is nearly overwhelmed with a sense of rightness. Bitty's hand is still on his left arm, and he reaches up and tangles their fingers together.

How many times has he given Bitty a fist bump, or let their fingers touch when he handed over a bag of groceries or a coffee, or physically crashed into him during checking practice? This is nothing like that. This is  _ worlds _ away.

Jack knows physicality. He's dropped gloves more times than he remembers, but beyond that, he's felt the eagerness of first kisses, first  _ everythings, _ the jitteriness of holding someone else's hand, the relief of a tight hug from someone he thought he'd disappointed. 

He thought he knew everything. He does not.

If he'd known everything there was to know about touching someone, then he wouldn't be surprised right now, would have expected the feeling of his feet leaving the ground. He's always been grounded. Other people get called dreamy, have other people tell them they have their heads up in the clouds, but Jack has always had his head squarely on his shoulders even when it's spinning out of his control. He doesn't anticipate the feeling of flying, but it's there, while at the same time he feels connected, grounded by another person in a way that he never has. Drawn towards Bitty like magnets.

Huh. If they were magnets, Jack would be the north pole and Bitty would be the south pole.

That's probably not funny enough (or shitty enough) to say out loud.

All those thoughts race through his head in the space of a breath and he cradles Bitty's face in his free hand, feels the way Bitty squeezes his other hand in response, and breathes again.

Jack doesn't know how long they stand like that. He also doesn't care. He's too busy revelling in the knowledge that he is understood, that his feelings are returned.

Bitty smiles, suddenly, like he can't contain himself, and that makes Jack smile too, because the warmth in Bitty's eyes is all directed at him and there is nothing better than that in the whole world, and then Bitty says, "Let's go to Annie's."

And they've done that hundreds of thousands of times (well, probably not, but it feels that way), and as Jack grabs his keys from where he left them in the kitchen, and Bitty pulls his jacket back on, they slip into their easy familiarity— Lardo and Chowder aren't in the living room anymore, and Jack wonders idly where they went, but he forgets about that pretty quickly in favor of  _ Annie's _ with  _ Bitty _ and how something so everyday can seem completely different in a new light.

They step out the front door of the Haus, and Jack suddenly realizes that for the past couple of minutes, he has not held Bitty's hand. Some of that was unavoidable (Bitty had to put on his jacket). But he wants to hold Bitty's hand, which surprises him, because he never really cared about that with Camilla, or anyone, really. But today has been full of surprises.

He also doesn't know how Bitty feels about PDA at any level, so he lets the back of his hand brush against Bitty's as they walk, a quiet signal that it's up to him.

And he's half expecting Bitty to not notice, because half of Jack's brain is still not totally confident that everything that has just happened actually happened, but Bitty twines their fingers together and the corners of his eyes crinkle up and the smile still hasn't left his face and Jack knows that this is real. 

This is real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you person who replied to inquire what was next on tumblr!! it was probably a while ago b/c that post was a year old but whatever. i never said i check my activity regularly oops
> 
> thank you so much for reading!  
> love, birl


	3. annie's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is hand-holding, Jack remembering that actually his photography portfolio proves he's been in love with Bitty for a while, and these boys actually discussing how a relationship is going to work.

Later on, Jack will remember the walk to Annie's as somehow both crystal clear and a complete haze. He remembers every instant, every breath he takes, he commits to memory the feeling of Bitty's hand in his, cold fingers—  _ poor circulation, _ Bitty would say, because he's said it before just like that,  _ annoying in these horrific winters of yours, but great for pie dough— _ and calluses, not as many as Jack has, but enough, and Bitty's hand may be smaller than his but Jack is under no illusions about its strength. 

They've walked this way so many times before. Every step brings another memory of Bitty's smile, bright and joyful against tanned skin from summer in Georgia, or pursing his lips the way he does when he's trying not to laugh, the way he did when Jack had intentionally identified six songs in a row as Taylor Swift. He'd done it to make Bitty laugh, and he'd succeeded, and the warmth in his hands from his coffee was nothing compared to the warmth in his chest from Bitty struggling to contain his laughter. 

They pass a jogger, long black hair in a tight ponytail, and Jack thinks of running with George Martin, catching a glimpse of Bitty and almost in the same breath saying  _ let's turn right, it'll take us over the bridge, it's a nice view _ as if he cared at all about the scenery when Bitty was there in the foreground. He'd been on his phone, then, but now he seems content to keep his hand entwined with Jack's, and Jack thinks this is how he wants to stay.

He's leaving, though.

With that remembrance, the hint of breeze in the air seems to pour directly down Jack's throat and hit his lungs all too fast. He's leaving. He's leaving, to play in the NHL, to do something he's wanted to do his entire life, to do something he's  _ worked _ towards his entire life, and he wants to go. But he doesn't want to leave.

Leaving means  _ leaving. _ Jack can give up the libraries. He can give up Faber— he'll have a new rink, just as good, probably better. He can give up being a captain on a D1 college team for being a rookie on a pro one. He can give up his photography class.

The air isn't that cold, but the breeze picks up the tiniest bit and Bitty tightens his grip on Jack's hand and walks a little closer, and Jack relishes the feeling of walking  _ together _ , not just side by side.

Before their first assignment (well, the first one that wasn't just learning how to use the cameras), the professor had told them to  _ notice things. _ Sitting in the seminar, Jack hadn't been sure what she wanted them to notice, or why to notice it, but he'd walked into the Haus that afternoon, the strap of the camera still unfamiliar and rough around the back of his neck, and seen winter sunlight shining in through the window, glinting off particles of flour in the air, glimmering in the soap bubbles in the sink, gleaming in the shine on a clean pie server sitting on the counter next to a pie that smelled like lemon and looked like a cloud, Bitty busily blowtorching the meringue peaks until they were almost as golden brown as his hair, and Jack had noticed all of these things, and he had taken the first picture for his assignment.

He remembers all of this, and he remembers immediately after, when Bitty had heard the shutter click and looked up, had carefully set the blowtorch on the counter— Dex had really warmed up to the team, Jack knew he was the one responsible for the consistent supply of butane— and Jack had thought it was funny, how Bitty's presence in this kitchen had transformed it from an afterthought to the first place he went every time he entered the Haus. At the time, he'd assumed it was because of the pies. And when he'd handed the camera to Bitty to show him the picture, Bitty had taken it from him with cold hands and looked at the viewer and proclaimed himself no expert, but personally he thought that lemon meringue pie was  _ definitely _ pretty enough to be photographed, and Jack hadn't connected that lump in his throat to his thought that the pie wasn't really what he was photographing.

Now he knows. 

He's taken so many pictures of Bitty since then. His favorite is one of Bitty when they were skating on the Pond— he'd just landed after his figure skating jump, and Jack had a picture of the jump too but it didn't compare to this one, when Bitty had just happened to catch Jack's eye and smiled like they were the only people in the world, leg still extended out behind him, slicing clean lines into the ice, somehow still graceful and elegant in hockey gear, all bright red and white and padding and thick socks and heavy gloves, and Jack's mouth had felt dry, and he'd noticed so many things but maybe not the most important thing of all.

He keeps going back through his memory, identifying all those pictures of Bitty he'd taken, remembering details that, if the picture had been of anyone else, he wouldn't have ever noticed in the first place. A lot of them are baking or skating. Some of them are standing in doorways, walking by the Pond, brows furrowed over a notebook on the third floor of the library. 

Which reminds him.

"You're in a lot of my portfolios for my photography class," he says, which Bitty already knows, because Jack shows him a lot of his photos. "My professor said those photos are some of my best ones."

Bitty blinks at him, eyelashes brushing his cheeks dusted just a little pink from the cold, just enough to match the tip of his nose, and then he says, with a quirk in the corner of his mouth, "Must have been all the practice you got, I heard you taking pictures when you thought I wasn't looking."

Jack feels himself smile back, not just the muscles on his face but he  _ feels _ himself smiling from the depths of his soul, and he says, "Must have been."

They're walking so close that their arms, not just their hands, are pressed together, and if he'd been with anyone else Jack wouldn't have needed the extra warmth that comes from being so close, but he's with Bitty and he thinks that even if he doesn't need the body heat from a temperature point of view, he needs— or at least wants, deeply— the closeness.

And then they're at the door to Annie's, and the walk is so short, but the journey isn't anywhere near over.

Jack marvels, again, at the familiarity of everything— opening the door, scanning to make sure there are open tables before they both get in line, satisfied there are enough places to sit that by the time they order there'll still be a couple open, standing in line and pretending to study the menu even though he knows what he's going to order already, and it all feels the same but still new, washed in a warm, sunny glow that has nothing to do with it being spring and everything to do with the events of the past hour. 

"I didn't tell you why I decided to say something," Jack realizes. They inch forward in line, and Bitty looks up at him, which is a clear signal to keep talking. "I had just gotten back to the Haus and I went to the kitchen, but you weren't there, and Lardo and Chowder were talking about— actually, I don't really know what?"

He relates what he'd heard, and Bitty says, "Oh, yeah, the chirping versus flirting debate. I think it started when Chowder asked Lardo if Ransom and Holster were together, but Nursey got involved too at some point, and then naturally Dex decided he had opinions as well, and the frogs have been telling me the latest developments for, like, the past month."

"Developments?" Jack has never heard of this debate, but he figures that's a safe (and important) question to ask.

Bitty blushes a little and says, "I think we've come up in the debate more than once." Before Jack can unpack all of that, he continues, "In case you're wondering, Chowder and Nursey are on the side of 'chirping doesn't mean flirting', and Lardo and Dex strongly disagree— well, I'm not really sure what Dex's position is, I think he's just looking for an excuse to argue with Nursey— and I think they think they're being clever and trying to get me to tell them for sure whether we've been flirting or not, but obviously I can't answer that question if I don't know myself, so, y'know, there's been a bit of a stalemate."

And, well, that's a lot of information.

"They could have asked  _ me," _ Jack says.

Bitty looks like he's trying hard to suppress a smile, and he says, "They did. Or, well, Dex tried. He told Nursey, who told Chowder, who told me, that he left more confused than he started. Did you really start talking to him about spinorama?"

And suddenly Jack remembers the exact conversation. Dex, in the lobby of a hotel after team dinner on a roadie a couple weeks ago, saying "Shoe check, huh? You sure chirp Bitty a lot," and Jack immediately saying, "Well, you know, he doesn't like the hitting people kind of checking, so I have to be creative," and explaining all the progress Bitty has made since he got to Samwell, like Dex didn't already know.

(Like Jack hadn't already talked about it to anyone who would listen.)

"Oh," he says to Bitty now. "I did. But I was trying to communicate that you're very inventive about not getting hit and that I think spinorama's a pretty good way to get around bigger players, since they can't keep track of you long enough to hit you."

Bitty smiles. "Well, Dex said he was bewildered by the topic change but impressed by the analysis."

"Hm, I thought I was very on-topic," Jack says, only half joking, and then they're at the front of the line and Bitty orders a salted caramel latte and Jack orders a black coffee and he manages to get his wallet out first and slap his card onto the counter before Bitty does, and Bitty glowers a little that Jack won the race to pay but leaves a sizable tip in the tip jar to make up for it.

It's their routine.

Jack gets his coffee right away, and he goes to get a table, and Bitty judges the approximate wait time at the espresso bar for his order and comes and sits down with him, and Jack realizes that he can grab Bitty's hand again, so he does.

"I'm not sure I can help with the chirping versus flirting debate now, either," he says. "Because I didn't put anything together until I heard Chowder and Lardo talking."

Bitty blushes. "Well. Um,  _ personally _ I may have, um, put things together a little earlier than that."

Jack's world tilts. This whole time, he's been imagining Bitty, like him, going through his days in a state of general oblivion until someone says something that makes everything snap into place, and in Jack's imagination, this person that caused an epiphany for Bitty was Jack himself. But the idea that Bitty  _ knew, _ that Jack hadn't just been plunging himself into a sea of uncertain outcomes when he decided to say something... it makes Chowder and Lardo's conversation feel almost fated. "What? When?"

"When we were making that pie last semester," Bitty says. "I don't know why, but that was when I realized."

Jack remembers that day, a clumsy lattice that Bitty probably shouldn't have let him make, flour everywhere from an extremely brief but vicious flour-throwing battle, talking about deciding between NHL teams that had given him offers while still kind of being amazed that there were any that wanted him at all— sure, he wouldn't be the first out player in the league, but Parse had already had a captaincy and a couple of cups under his arm before he'd come out. It's different to sign someone who's already out, Jack knows that.

He also remembers Bitty, chirping him and being chirped in return, a smudge of flour on his cheek that Jack had momentarily wanted to brush off for him, and he remembers asking why Bitty was looking at him like that.

"I remember that."

"Yeah, well, it got a little overshadowed by Epikegster, and then by the time we left for break I'd made up my mind not to say anything. I didn't want to make some sort of dramatic confession while you were still focused on picking a team, and then you  _ did _ pick a team and... I don't know. It felt too late." Bitty shrugs and smiles, with a touch of guilt that Jack only picks up on because he's known Bitty for so long. "Guess I could have just said something last semester, huh? Then we could have had more time."

Then his name gets called and he goes to get his latte, leaving Jack to ponder what he said.

Is it too late?

The idea feels like a bucket of ice water after everything else that's happened today, but Jack can't deny that he only has a couple of months left here. And even though Providence isn't too far, forty minutes is a lot longer than a few steps across the hallway.

Shit.

But he has a couple of months. He can drive up to Samwell after graduation if Bitty has time. They have the whole summer to figure something out. Jack being a second-semester senior doesn't mean this has to be over.

He  _ really _ doesn't want it to be over.

Bitty returns with his latte and sits down, and Jack says, "I know I'm graduating soon, but I want to make this work. I mean, only if you also want to. Providence is close and I'll have a car. We can figure something out."

And there's a  _ real _ smile from Bitty, not guilty like his last one, and he says, "Oh, honey, I want to,  _ so much.  _ And we have the rest of the semester to get things sorted. We can do this."

Some of Jack's relief must show on his face— it's entirely plausible, because he feels like every ounce of tension that materialized has just melted out his fingertips. Whatever Bitty is seeing on Jack's face, he smiles, and he reaches out for Jack's hand again as he takes a sip of his latte, and Jack knows they're going to make it work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this is the end of this particular bit, but i'm going to make this into a series so i can add additional ficlets of whatever else i want to flesh out in this universe! i've got a general outline for a ficlet about how jack (and parse) came out, but i would LOVE to hear your requests/thoughts as well!
> 
> my classes start up again next week, so i'll probably have to return to my planned hiatus until about mid-to-late may (which isn't too far from now tbh), but i may be able to get some stuff written over the rest of this week :)
> 
> thank you so much for reading/kudosing/commenting!  
> love, birl <3


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